


Romantic Roma

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Italy Unpacked (TV) RPF
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Riding on the Vespa, Romance, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 19:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17773061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: A cute, romantic tale, based on the Rome Unpacked series, where Andrew is in serious danger of falling off the back of the Vespa - due to Giorgio's madcap driving - and so Giorgio tells him to wrap his arms around him and hold on tight."Uh, well..." Andrew began to squirm. That was quite an invitation. Let's just say that it may not have been the first time he had fantasised about wrapping his arms around Giorgio but, in his dreams, it was a different scenario entirely - one of nakedness and bedsheets and one which Caligula would have undoubtedly approved of. By now, he was starting to redden. And he prayed to God that his friend couldn't read his mind.





	Romantic Roma

**Author's Note:**

> Italian phrases beta'd by the wonderful Mcicioni - thank you x
> 
> *~*~*~*
> 
> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.

This Vespa must have had nerves of steel, as it had been zipping through the streets of Rome for days now and the sights it had seen were enough to make your hair curl. It had squeezed through gaps which, had you measured them by ruler, would not have been physically wide enough for it to fit through; it had nearly been cut in half twice by oncoming traffic at crossroads, and it had been sworn at at least seventeen times by Giorgio already today, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet. "Ah, to be a Vespa," Andrew thought.

He'd been managing quite well up to now in riding on the back of the scooter. For a bookworm, the historian wasn't shy about mingling with the locals and getting up close and personal with a city, but he'd never expected to get  _quite_ so close to the city in such a  _literal_ sense as he had since he mounted this Vespa. He'd been smacking into things left, right and centre.  _Rubbing shoulders_  with the locals, indeed. The last bump in the road had nearly seen him thrown into the traffic like a Christian thrown to the lions at the Colosseum.

"Andrew, what are you'a doing?" Giorgio glanced back at the man, who was gripping on for dear life.

"Trying to stay alive?" he chanced.

"For God's sakes, man. Put your'a arms around me," the chef grinned. "You won'a go anywhere if you 'old onto me."

"Uh, well..." Andrew began to squirm. That was  _quite_  an invitation. Let's just say that it may not have been the first time he had fantasised about wrapping his arms around Giorgio but, in his dreams, it was a different scenario entirely - one of nakedness and bedsheets and one which Caligula would have undoubtedly approved of. By now, he was starting to redden. And he prayed to God that his friend couldn't read his mind.

"Come on then!"

This time Graham-Dixon didn't argue. He slid his arms around Locatelli's frame, grasping into the fabric of his jacket and relishing the warmth of his body as, despite the searing Italian sun, it could be surprisingly breezy on the bike. Which was just as well, as the wind helped to cool the heat of Andrew's blushing cheeks. The combination of Giorgio's aftershave wafting into his nostrils and the feel of him wrapped in his arms was warming the presenter up more than any hot weather ever could.

The next time they ran over a particularly bad bump, Andrew was safe and well, and Giorgio turned around to him and smiled. "Don'a let go, now," he told him. He had a point. Unwanted arousal was easier to deal with than a near-death experience.

Soon, the roads became more familiar, and it was obvious that their little apartment overlooking the square was not far away. Lunchtime was upon them and the sight of the many tourists tucking into their pizza, pasta and oil-dressed salads was causing them to salivate. A busy morning filming could only be rewarded with one of Locatelli's fabulously tasty meals. But as they pulled up in the beautiful square they had come to call home for the past few days, the skate soup left over from yesterday was not the only tasty Italian  _dish_  on Andrew's mind.

"Eccoci qui," Giorgio chimed, as the scooter screeched to a halt.  _We have arrived._  He removed his helmet and shook his mop of curly, slightly greying hair. But when Andrew reached up to do the same, he interrupted, "Hey, I'a never said you were allowed to let go of me!"

Having just taken his helmet off, the Englishman laughed at his response. "Why aren't I allowed to let go, Giorgio?"

"Because I like you 'olding me," came a devilish smile.

Giorgio could be a bit of a comedian, but Andrew's heart leapt nonetheless at the suggestion. He played along. "Maybe when we're somewhere more private then, eh?" He strode over the vehicle and, with his helmet in one hand, gathered up his friend's with the other. "Lock up the Vespa and meet me upstairs," he raised his eyebrows and whispered, half-jokingly.

When the Italian had finished fighting with the bike lock, he jogged up the stairs of their little apartment in a quiet part of central Rome. He found his companion jacket-off and already slumped in a chair, worn out from an extremely hectic day of travelling. They'd been from the Trevi fountain to the 'Typewriter' and everywhere in-between, starting at 6am. Many monuments and markets later, they had the opportunity to relax for the rest of the day. It was too busy now in most places to film.

Having disrobed to his vest, the younger man stepped out onto the sheltered veranda and admired the scenes below. There were a few locals around, busying themselves with day-to-day activities, but most had stepped indoors now for it was the hottest part of the day. "Come look at dis, Andrew," he called out, and the other man followed. He was pointing to an couple sitting on a bench, having a lovers' tiff, gesticulating wildly and their faces so beautifully expressive. They epitomised everything the pair of them loved - local characters were the soul of this city.

"Wow. Aren't they a pair?" Graham-Dixon joined him on the balcony, cigarette in-hand.

"They'a so in love - you know it." There was a lull in the conversation as they watched the man and woman make up and break up several times over the course of a minute. They were pushing then shoving, kissing then cuddling, and the pressure of what Giorgio wanted to say to his co-host was mounting up inside of him at the sight of it. He needed to say what was on his mind. "Andrew... _amico mio_  ... We know one another a long time, right?"

"Da molto tempo," he flashed a smile before beginning to walk back into the room to fetch his lighter. _A long time_ _._

"Well... I do know... that you  _like_  me, Andrew," Giorgio whispered, looking over his shoulder.

There was a cough of surprise. That was unexpected. It stopped Andrew in his tracks and he spun on his heel. "Of-Of  _course_  I like you," he stammered. He felt sure of the inflection in Gio's words, but did not currently feel qualified to deal with the feelings which came with them. And so he rambled on. "I certainly don't hate you if that's what you mean, Giorgio! I wouldn't be here with you, would I?"

"No," the chef began, turning around to face the other man, "What would you say if I told you that I thought you were an 'andsome, intelligent,  _beautiful_ man?"

"I'd say you needed a new prescription for your glasses."

" _Mio dio, Andrea!_  " Locatelli finally snapped in frustration at this pointless back and forth - he had only one thing to say to Andrew and there no point in beating around the bush any longer. He grabbed him by his white shirt and pulled him forward. He snarled, "Jus'a fucking kiss me." The startled historian met with his hungry lips, dragged into a frantic and demanding kiss.

"Mmmph," Andrew moaned, his mouth stuffed with Giorgio's rampant, swirling tongue. He could feel himself blushing as his whole body, from head to toe, tingled with giddy arousal. "Oh Giorgio," his words were barely distinguishable under the circumstances.

Hands were fumbling at the older man's belt, pulling out any of his shirt which was still tucked in, and the Michelin starred chef's hands were up his shirt in no time at all, stroking his chest and belly and gently running what little nails he had down his back, in lust and desperation. Andrew gave as good as he got and he frantically tugged at Gio's vest, wanting so  _badly_  to caress Locatelli's gorgeous tanned skin that he almost ripped the thin material. Before he knew it, there was a brief break in the kiss, and the vest was off and onto the tiled floor - Giorgio was half-dressed.

All of these years and all of this time - _da molto tempo_ \- of Graham-Dixon fantasising about his co-host and now Locatelli was kissing him hard, on a balcony in  _romantic_  Rome no less, and he hadn't even seen it coming. "Gosh," he gasped in shock, momentarily freed from the kiss.

"Gosh?" Giorgio laughed. "You got nothing else to say to me?"

"Hmm," Andrew laughed too and pretended to think. "Quando si mangia?"  _When do we eat?_  Well, he was absolutely  _starving_  . The skate soup leftovers were practically eyeballing him from across the room - metaphorically of course, as the fish's head had long since been thrown away.

"We are 'aving our starter first, baby," came the shy giggle, as Giorgio felt his lover's hands cup his behind and pull him forward.

"Oh yeah? Maybe we should look at this  _starter_ again to see if I've got enough room for my lunch afterwards," the art historian hinted, with a grin. "Maybe we  _should_  try this again, just to make sure it isn't a  _dream,_ " he silently thought.

And just  _maybe_ there just _was_  somethingin the air... They both peered over the edge and glanced down at the quarrelling lovers, who were now wrapped in one another's arms and kissing passionately. "They've got  _nothing_  on us, Giorgio," Andrew smiled at him as they left the balcony behind and headed to the bedroom.


End file.
